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The tiny sense of foreboding that has threatened to creep in since I started this merry dance perks up, but I refuse to listen. I fill my mind with the various ‘things’ he has hinted at and let the heat take over.
‘A holiday fling?’ he repeats back at me.
I raise my fingers to his cravat and toy with it as I lift my eyes to his and project every carnal thought. ‘While we are here anything goes, and then we go back to life as it was, just friends.’
‘Just friends. Agreed. And no one will know, not even Ash, Coco?’
‘Well, Coco kind of has a way of—’ I stop talking as he shakes his head.
‘Not even Coco, Cait.’
‘Okay.’ I look at him and the sense of foreboding swells. Is this about his rules still, or is it something more? And hell, why do I care if it means I can finally have him? Why am I overthinking this?
I just need to keep in mind it’s just sex. Incredible mind-obliterating sex. Nothing that runs deeper, no feelings, no future...
But what if this changes things?
What if we’re putting our friendship at risk?
Panic clambers up my throat and I swallow it back before he sees it. I can keep this under control. I’ve lived with this dogged attraction for six years; at least now I’ll have the memories when we move on, and he’s agreed the same.
If he can do it, I sure as hell can.
‘Agreed, Cait?’
I give a harried nod and yank his cravat to bring him closer. ‘Now hurry up and kiss me before I’m forced to climb you.’
His laugh is so fucking sexy, the flash of desire on his face seconds before he crushes me to the tree and claims my lips sexier still.
There’s no foreboding now. I feel like I’m dreaming again, and this isn’t a dream I want to wake up from any time soon. Not now.
Not ever.
No feelings... Really?
CHAPTER THREE
MY CONTROL IS slipping into the moat behind me. All I can hear are her panted breaths, her moans trapped low in her throat, and I want more of them. More of her. But we’re outside, it’s cold, and the goose bumps that I witnessed over her skin the second before covering her in my jacket tell me she feels it.
I try to tear my mouth away, to usher her inside, but her hands are in my hair, refusing to release me. And then she arches and my jacket opens up around her, her breasts pressing into my chest, and there’s no stopping this now. My hands are there, desperate, hungry, my growl fierce. She’s really not wearing a bra. Their warmth is too acute, their softness too pliable and her nipples—fuck—their pebble-like nubs press into my palm, daring me on.
I bite at her lip, punishment for teasing me all day, punishment for teasing me all these years—and she moans, claws at my shoulders, giving as good as she gets.
Fuck, I’m in too deep. I know it, but it’s not enough to stop.
From the second she fell into my lap six years ago and gave me a glimpse of her every curve, her melodic voice, her easy smile, I’ve dreamed of this. Spent too long conjuring up her sounds, sounds I’ve heard in the club enough times, their effect as visceral as if she’d uttered them, and now she is under my touch, my caress, my attention.
‘I want you,’ she says against my lips, lifting her leg and causing the split to part as she wraps it around me, drawing me up against her, only the blasted sporran gets in the way and she laughs as I curse.
‘I made a joke about that earlier,’ she pants before tongue-fucking me deeper, distracting me from asking what it was. I’m too busy tasting her, exploring her, feeling her skin prickling beneath my palms—she’s cold, remember.
‘We should go inside.’
‘This is too much fun.?
??
‘You’re cold.’
